Threadbare
by paperstorm
Summary: Part of my Deleted Scenes series. The tag for Time Is On My Side, 3x15. Wincest.


**Contains dialogue from the episode Time Is On My Side, it belongs to Eric Kripke and Sera Gamble.**

**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page. They will make more sense if read in order. :)**

* * *

Dean snaps his cell phone closed without saying goodbye to Bobby. His heart races. They haven't had a lead on Bela or the Colt in months, and now that they do Dean doesn't want to waste any time. "C'mon, we're going after Bela."

"What?" Sam asks. "Whoa, whoa, hold on a second."

"C'mon, get your stuff. The clock's ticking."

"Look, I – I think we should stay here and finish the case," Sam says, gesturing to the maps on the bed.

Dean laughs shortly, and then frowns when he recognizes that Sam isn't kidding. "Are you insane?"

"Dean, there's no way she still has the Colt! That was months ago, she probably sold it the second she got it," Sam says rationally.

For some reason, Dean hadn't actually considered that, but then he realizes Sam's right and his heart sinks. "Well then I'll kill her. Win-win," he mutters, leaning down and picking up his bag.

"Dean – "

"Sam!" Dean interrupts. "We're going!"

"No!" Sam returns, little-brother defiance in his voice like when he was thirteen and went through a phase where for months he did the exact opposite of whatever Dean told him to do out of sheer stubbornness.

"Why the hell not?" Dean snaps.

"Dean, this!" Sam points to the maps again. "This, here, now. This is what's gonna save you!"

"What, chasing some Frankenstein?"

"Chasing _immortality_," Sam corrects, with wide eyes and the most hopeful smile Dean's seen on his face for almost a year. "Look, Benton can't die! We find out how he did it, we can do it to you!"

"What are you talking about?" he asks incredulously. He stares at his brother's face and suddenly something clicks.

"You have to die before you can go to Hell, right? So if you can never die …"

"Wait, wait, wait. Wait a second." Dean takes a few steps closer to Sam, hoping he's wrong. "Did … did you know that this was Doc Benton from the jump?"

Sam looks away momentarily and he says, "No," but he's lying. Dean fixes him with his best _tell me the truth_ look and Sam relents, "Look, I was hoping."

"So the whole zombie thing, you were just lying to me?"

"I didn't wanna say anything until I was sure, Dean. All I'm trying to do is find an answer, here."

Dean knows Sam's heart is in the right place but he also knows that what Sam's thinking wouldn't ever work. "No, all you're trying to do is – is chase Slicey McHackey! And to kill him? No, you wanna buy him a freakin' beer! You wanna study him!"

"I was just trying to help," Sam says defensively.

"You're not helping! You forget that if I welch on this deal, you die! Guess what, living forever is welching!"

"Fine, then whatever the magic pill is, I'll take it too!" Sam cries.

"Oh, what is this, Sid and Nancy?" Dean groans. "No. It's just like Bobby's been saying. We kill the demon that holds the contract, this whole damn thing wipes clean. That's our best shot."

"Even if you had the Colt, Dean, who're you gonna shoot? We have no idea who holds the ticket!"

Sam's right about that too, and it pisses Dean off even more. "Well I'll shoot the hellhounds, then, before they slash me up! Now are you comin' or not?"

"I'm staying here," Sam says quietly.

Dean stares at him in disbelief for a moment. "No, you're not. 'Cause I'm not gonna let you wander out in the woods alone, to track some organ-stealing freak!"

"Not gonna _let_ me?" Sam repeats with a humorless laugh.

"No, I'm not gonna let you!"

"How're you gonna stop me?"

Dean blinks and stares at him again. As much as Sam gripes about wanting to be independent and make his own choices, he doesn't usually dig his heels in when he can tell something is this important to Dean. Dean _knows_ he's right about this, and once again he's hit with the horrible, cold, slimy feeling that maybe Sam doesn't really _want_ to save him. It's the same way he felt when they were hunting the Crocotta, and Dean was convinced it was Dad's spirit coming to rescue him and Sam didn't want to believe it. But just like that time, the feeling is gone as quickly as it came when Dean notices the miserable look on Sam's face.

"Look, man. We're trying to do the same thing, here," Sam says softly.

Dean sighs. "Yeah, I know. But I'm going. So if you wanna stay, stay."

Sam nods and clenches his jaw, his eyes going shiny, but he doesn't look at Dean and he doesn't say anything else. Dean nods to himself and sighs again, slinging his bag over his shoulder and making himself walk towards the door. He hesitates when he gets there, because he hates the idea of leaving like this, and turns around to look at Sam's back.

"Sammy, be careful," he says, and then Sam turns around and fixes his tear-filled eyes on Dean, and Dean just feels worse.

"You too," Sam whispers.

It takes everything Dean has in him to walk out the door and close it behind him, and then he gets less than halfway down the hall before his feet stop him again. For a moment, Dean just stares at the floor a few yards in front of him. He hates that Sam is so stubborn and at the same time he loves that Sam doesn't let anyone push him around, even Dean. Every day since the day Sam was born, it's hurt Dean deeper than he could express to see tears in Sam's eyes. Especially when it's because of something Dean has done – some problem he has the power to fix. In his own head, Dean can at least admit that there's a possibility he's wrong about this and that maybe there's _some_ merit to Sam's argument, and maybe he should've said that instead of storming out. Anything to get that bruised look off Sam's beautiful face.

"Fuck," Dean mutters, scrubbing a hand over his mouth and then turning around and walking back to the room. It's just stupid how much Sam has always had him wrapped around that little finger.

Sam looks up at him in surprise when he opens the door, standing in the same spot he was a minute ago when Dean left but his face is streaked with tears now. Dean feels like shit. Sam's never been one to hide his emotions and they've all been even closer to the surface than normal these last few months, and Dean can't regret making the deal because there's no point in living in a world without Sammy in it, but if anything had the power to _make_ him regret it, it would be how hard this has all been on his brother. Sam turns away instantly, wiping at his face in an attempt to hide what Dean's already seen.

"Thought you were going," he says, obviously trying to keep his voice steady.

"I am," Dean answers.

"So?"

Dean sighs and closes the door behind him, dropping his bag down onto the ground. "Can't leave with you mad at me. I hate it when you're mad at me."

Sam must hear the honesty in Dean's voice, because he turns back to him and stops trying to pretend he isn't upset. "I'm not mad."

Dean nods and licks his lips. He hesitates just for a second, and then he crosses the room and takes Sam's face in his hands and kisses him. Sam's lips taste like salt from his tears, and he grabs Dean by the waist and holds it tight and kisses back. It's getting harder to breathe every day that goes by; every minute closer to his time being up for good, but when Dean kisses Sam, he's somehow able to forget all of that. He can lose himself in the warmth of Sam pressed up against him, Sam's lips and hands on him, how safe and loved he feels in Sam's arms. Even if it's just for a moment.

"M'sorry," Dean says softly when they break apart.

Sam shakes his head and rests his forehead against Dean's. "M'not stupid. I know this isn't a sure thing. But it's worth looking into, at least, don't you think?"

Dean nods. In truth, he doesn't. The guy is staying alive forever by stealing living people's body parts, and that's not something Dean's willing to do. But maybe Sam needs to figure that out on his own instead of Dean telling him. "Yeah."

"If you really want me to come with you, I will," Sam says, and Dean wishes he hadn't. He doesn't like feeling like Sam does things he doesn't want to, just to make Dean happy.

"We'll kill two birds this way, okay? You look into the doctor, I'll go after the Colt. Doubles our chances of one of us bein' right."

"It's a long-shot, but I have to try. I promised I'd save you."

"I know."

"I love you," Sam whispers, in that same small, broken tone he's been saying those words in for months. Like he thinks they're a death sentence for both of them. He isn't wrong.

"I know that too." Dean slides his fingers into Sam's hair and Sam kisses him again. It's brief, too brief, but it gives Dean the strength to walk away; knowing this Sam is who he'll come back to instead of the sad, misunderstood one from before. "I gotta go. She might not stay in one place too long."

"Okay," Sam says, but then he pulls Dean into a hug and doesn't let him go for a long time. Dean presses his mouth into Sam's shoulder and closes his eyes, breathing him in.

"Be careful," Dean says again when Sam finally releases him. "I better come back to a brother who still has all his organs, you hear me?"

"Yeah." Sam nods solemnly and watches as Dean picks up his bag and heads for the door again. Just as Dean's twisting the doorknob, Sam says, "Hey, Dean?"

Dean glances at him over his shoulder.

"Don't kill her."

"Sam, she – "

"I know what she did. What she's done. She deserves a bullet between the eyes, but not from you. You don't kill people, Dean. You'd hate yourself."

Dean sighs. He shoots Sam one more quick glance, and Sam's staring imploringly at him, but Dean doesn't give him an answer one way or the other before he walks into the hallway and shuts the door behind him. Sam's right. He would hate himself. But the way Dean sees it, if Bela sold the Colt, she sold Dean's one chance at getting out of the deal. She hammered the final nail in his coffin. And Dean's going to kill her for it, because in his mind? He and Sam are supposed to be together. Forever. Taking Dean away from Sam is a crime more than worthy of death in Dean's book.

* * *

Dean doesn't kill her. He wants to, but he can't. And now he's probably really done for it, because they don't have the Colt and Sam's plan with Benton didn't work and they just wasted too many of Dean's precious last days on two separate wild-goose-chases.

They know the name of the demon that holds his contract. Sam seems optimistic about that. But Dean doesn't have the energy for optimism anymore. All he can do, all he can think about, is leaving Sam behind. Dean doesn't want to go to Hell, he's terrified down to every cell in his body about it, but the thing he's the most afraid of is leaving Sam all alone. Never seeing him again. Never getting to touch him or hold him or hear him laugh. Never feeling Sam's body trembling beneath him. Never waking up from a nightmare and finding himself cradled against Sam's chest, in his arms; the one place in the world where Dean is completely safe. Never arguing with him over what to order for dinner or what movie to watch, never hearing him complain about Dean's taste in music or his reckless driving or his tendency to flirt with anything female. When Dean slept with Cassie a couple years back, he knew how much Sam loved him because even though Sam was hurt, he forgave him. Sam still wanted him, even after he'd fucked up. No one has ever loved Dean unconditionally like that. No one else ever will. The idea of being ripped away from Sam, forever, is more than Dean can bear.

Sam can sense it, and he's quiet as they drive. At one point he reaches over and takes Dean's hand, bringing it up to his mouth and kissing the back of Dean's palm, but then he lets it drop and goes back to looking out the window. It's after two in the morning when Dean gets tired and eventually pulls into a motel, and Sam checks them in while Dean just stands there. There's too many things going through his head; it's all sort of mushed together and gone white and fuzzy, so he's glad Sam is there to take the lead. Sam shuffles him into a room and unloads their bags, and Dean sits on the edge of the king-sized bed and tries to think about anything other than Hell. It never works anymore.

"We'll get her," Sam says quietly, once the doors are locked and salt-lines are laid.

Dean looks up at him, blinking a few times so Sam's face comes into focus. He's watching Dean apprehensively, and he walks over slowly and joins him on the bed.

"Lilith. We'll find her, and we'll make her let you go. We got, what, three weeks? That's a lot of time, Dean. We can do this."

Dean nods. He exhales heavily, standing up and stripping down to his boxers and toeing out of his shoes. Sam watches him do it; Dean can feel eyes on the back of his head. And then Dean climbs into the bed and pulls the blankets up over himself and he hopes more than anything for Sam to join him but he's not going to ask for it. He can't. Not tonight. Bela probably is being dragged into the pit by hellhounds right now, and it's making everything very real to Dean. He's not sure he ever completely believed there's a way out even if he _hopes_ there is, but there wasn't for her and Dean can't help fixating on that. She wasn't a hunter but she knew as much about lore and the occult as anyone, and she couldn't save herself. Hell is looming on the horizon, real and huge and scary and forever, and Dean's never been so terrified of anything in his life. He'll never, ever see Sam again. It makes him feel like crying until he shrivels up into a dehydrated raisin and dies.

Eventually Sam gets up, moves around a little out of Dean's line of sight, and then gets into bed next to him. He doesn't touch Dean right away, and Dean wishes he was stronger but he isn't so he rolls onto his back and looks at his brother. His beautiful little brother, the person he's been in love with every single day for twenty-four years, even back when he was too young to understand what that meant. Sam's eyes look blue in the faint light streaming between the crack in the curtains, and they're full of liquid sadness and heartbreak and Dean just about shatters. He rolls into Sam, tucking himself up against Sam's chest wordlessly; taking the comfort he craves but couldn't bring himself to ask for.

"Dean," Sam whispers in that heartbreaking way of his, and Dean shakes his head and presses his face into Sam's neck.

"I can't," he mumbles. He hates himself for it, but he's too weak right now to be above begging. "Sammy. Just … please."

Sam nods, and then he wraps Dean up in his big arms and just holds him tight. "We'll get her," he repeats. "I promise. She's not allowed to take you away from me. Nobody is."

"Okay," Dean breathes. He's glad Sam's sure of that, because Dean definitely isn't sure of it himself. He can't think about it. It would smash him to pieces. So he tries his best to push the thoughts away and just relax into Sam's embrace. He closes his eyes and fights to let Sam's comforting scent and the familiar feel of his body next to Dean's take Dean back to warm nights in rundown motel rooms when they were teenagers. When it was just the two of them; young, naked bodies curled up together all night to take advantage of the time they had alone before Dad came to get them. Touching and kissing and exploring and making each other feel things Dean never could with anyone else. When nothing else mattered. If genies were real and Dean was ever granted three wishes, he'd use all three to go back to that place, before everything got complicated.

"I love you," Sam says again, kissing Dean's hair.

Dean's voice breaks as he murmurs, "Me too, baby boy," back. He just hopes it'll be enough.


End file.
